


Lake Zurich

by imperatorkhaleesi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15534624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperatorkhaleesi/pseuds/imperatorkhaleesi
Summary: You have a hideous crush on a guy named Thor who has a bunch of the same classes as you. But you're pretty good at hiding it, even from yourself.Maybe too good.





	Lake Zurich

**Author's Note:**

> Title: "Lake Zurich" by Gorillaz  
> Chapter Title: "Humility" by Gorillaz, feat. George Benson

You don’t know just what the fuck you expected when you showed up, but it wasn’t this.

Your finals week ended four hours ago; this is the first time you’ve seen people other than your classmates or the library regulars in ten days. 70% because you had back to back exams to study for and papers to write.

30% due to the ridiculously handsome bastard standing on the other side of the room from you, jovially pumping a keg and telling a silly fun story about nightsurfing. Goddamn him.

 

You first were introduced to Thor Asagrimmr in a senior seminar film class last semester; Text Adaptations 401 to be exact. You weren’t a senior at the time; you thought that it might be a fun distraction in between Lit classes. The semester after that, you clocked him in your French Lit class, Genres 401, and in the library at 12 pm on Thursdays. And that’s really all you’d done, noted his recurring presence in your academic life; his very hypnotic accent, unbelievable eyes, tall, broad frame, and (after an unbelievable week on romantic comedies of the 1940s in Genres 401) his heartshatteringly gorgeous smile and laugh often drove you distraction in your classes with him.

Usually you liked to keep a low profile in class; you only ever raised your voice to speak when no one else bothered, or was too afraid to, and you had to do that in your other classes with alarming regularity, but Thor far more than had it covered in the classes you had with him. And he wasn’t Typical White Male™ about it either; he listened, thoughtfully, and often handed the attention back over to female classmates when one of the guys in class talked over her. His commentary, both on French novels and French film, was smart, insightful, and open enough to elaborate on, which he happily welcomed. Of course you chimed in, he had good thoughts and you liked tackling the concepts the professors suggested to the class, but you were mostly chill, until Professor Lewisham (of the book _Films of the 1960s_ fame) began his lecture on French New Wave, in the first month and a half, which is a genre you hate with the fire of a thousand suns. Before you could throw out your first volley on the unmitigated sexism of Godard’s _Pierrot la fou_ , Thor’s hand rose into the air. 

“Yes, Thor,” Lewisham sighed. You stifled a grin. This hadn’t been the first time Thor and Lewisham were gonna get into it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I realize this is your field of study and all,” he began, his hand dropping to his knee. “So I don’t want to step on any toes, but I need to know before we start. Are we going to address the unbelievable amounts of misogyny in the genre? Because if we’re going to skate over that I’m afraid I’m going to have to protest until we do.” Lewisham sighed.

“Well, that’s a very complicated question—”

“The absence of notable women in the genre aside from Agnes Varda is a complicated question?” You chime in. “It seems like a straightforward question to me.” You could feel your heartbeat spike as Thor’s head swung to look at you. Then he grinned. Lewisham’s head cocked to the side as he assessed you.

“Well, Ms….” he trails off. Holy shit. He doesn’t remember your name. What a _dick_.

“No need for the formal address Professor Lewisham,” you say. “Just my first name is fine.” Lewisham balked; Thor snorted; a couple other students in the class stifled a laugh. 

“Well,” Lewisham recovers; he strokes his chin, like he was taking that pause to think. Asshole. “I do believe that it’s quite disingenuous, with women like Jean Seberg and Anna Karina, to say that there’s an absence of notable women.”

“Do do realize,” you shot back, cutting across his thought. “That the two women you’ve named played the most one dimensional characters in all of their films?”

“And that they were often the _only_ women in their films?” Thor chimed in.

“And in the case of Anna Karina,” you went on, “the one time she played the main character was in a film that was written and directed by a man, and she played a sex worker that was killed at the end? Not to mention,” you’re pissed now, you feel the anger rising unchecked as you go on, “I was talking about _narratives_ within the genre _controlled_ and _directed_ by women, and as far as we all know, Agnes Varda is the only prominent female director in a genre filled with misogynists.”

Lewisham stared between the two of you, then directed his gaze to you.“I think I have to question your assumption that the actresses don’t matter. In fact—”

“I didn’t say that, nor did I imply it,” you interrupt. Lewisham blinks liberally; you can see a red flush rising on his neck. “The actresses do matter, of course they matter. But there isn’t much they can do when they’re only saying the words and not writing them.” Lewisham’s face was turning red; you could feel him preparing an invective of misogynist justifications. You tensed, preparing to defend yourself. Based on how his temple was pulsing, you weren’t sure you’d get through this ordeal of a discussion without crying, but goddamnit you were gonna try.

“Professor,” Thor’s head cocked to the side. “Do you know of any prominent female non actors in the genre aside from Varda and Marguerite Duras?”

Lewisham turned a bit pale.

“Well, Marguerite Duras was more a _novelist_ , than a filmmaker. And films of the time and genre were really dictated by their directors—”

“She _made_ films. She directed many of them too. She wrote _Hiroshima mon amour_.”

“That predated French New Wave proper by about 2 years.”

“So does _Last Year at Marienbad_ , but I doubt the nonlinear style in New Wave would have developed as cleanly without it,” you muttered.

“And aside from that, Resnais didn’t consider himself part of the movement,” Lewisham finished, staring pointedly at you.

“Just because the Left Bank filmmakers weren’t as commercially popular as the _Cahiers du cinema_ filmmakers doesn’t mean they were any less influential or any less part of the movement,” you reply. “In fact, one could argue that the artistic heart of the genre is in the Left Bank. There’s seeds of every element of New Wave in all of Resnais’s work; _Marienbad_ is basically a editing prototype for _Breathless._ The only thing Godard and Truffaut really did was make it marketable. They’re the mainstream movement of the genre. Everyone knows _Breathless_ , everyone knows _The 400 Blows._ How many people have even seen _Cleo from 5 to 7_ , or even _The Gleaners and I_? Or how about _La Pointe Courte_ , which is 100% stylistically French New Wave, but predates even _Hiroshima mon amour_ by about four years?”

“Alright,” Lewisham said, raising his palms in the universal sign of ‘calm down’. “For the sake of fairness, let’s have _you_ name some female French New Wave filmmakers. Educate me.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“My original question pertained simply to non-actors, professor,” Thor chimed in. Lewisham glared. Thor looked up at you. “Daniele Huillet, to start. She primarily collaborated with her husband.”

“Marilu Parolini,” you added on. “Secretary at Cahiers du Cinema turned set photographer. The reason why we have so many behind the scenes photographs of so many productions.

“Suzanne Schiffmann, too, though I’m sure you know her, considering your scholarship of the genre focuses on the Cahiers du Cinema subsection.”

“That’s all well and good, but I believe Thor said _prominent_ female non-actors. All of the women you just mentioned were on the fringes of the movement.”

“Oh sure, if you completely ignore the collaborative aspect that Left Bank brought to the work, and think the genre only consists of Godard, Truffaut, and Varda when you’re feeling particularly benevolent.”

“Well luckily for us today is a good day,” Lewisham snapped. The room was dead silent as he regained his composure. He looked up at you then. “You’ve both raised some good points. We’ll explore a few of them when we discuss Left Bank vs. _Cahiers du Cinema_ during our next class. For now, let’s just define those terms for the students who aren’t familiar with them yet. Who here is familiar with the magazine _Cahiers du Cinema_?” Thor raised his hand. Lewisham sighed lightly.

“Of course you are.” 

 

Shockingly enough, after that unbelievable tag team, you hadn’t spoken to him until several hours ago, after the final of your American Cinema 301 class. You were certainly confused, walking out of Mercer Hall, your mind swimming with frames of _Dog Day Afternoon_ and _The Departed_ , thinking about where to go for lunch and a bit of pre-Genres cramming, when he’d suddenly appeared at your elbow, smiling down at you.

“Hi,” he said. You squinted up at him, then pushed your braids behind one ear.

“Hi.”

“You’re in my Genres class.”

“Yeah. French Lit too,” you reply.

“Yeah. Adaptations last year too. You also peer read my paper on _Cousin Bette_ a month ago.”

“Oh?” Peer reviews were anonymous. How did he fucking know? “Really?” Thor smiles softly, reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah I, uh…I recognized your handwriting from that interstitials you handwrote for that short film project we had in Adaptations. I got an A on that because of your notes. The paper, I mean, not the short. Thank you for that.”

“Oh. Of course,” you smile. Thor smiles back, even wider. If you’re being honest, you’re not even sure that this isn’t a dream; you were that tired. Which certainly explains why you were so calm. At least up until this part.

So uh…” Thor blinked, brought his hand up to rub his beard, “I was wondering…I’m a little worried about this essay portion on the Genres final. If you’re not busy right now, do you maybe wanna go over the articles we have to use with me?”

You blinked. Then opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then closed your eyes. Then opened them, Thor staring at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you said, “I think I left my body for a hot second. I haven’t slept for two days,” you add quickly, off his expression. He grinned, wide. “Yeah. That sounds cool.”

You realize when you sit down at his favorite spot in the library that it’s Thursday, 12 pm. You smiled as you pulled out your Genres notes.

 

Two hours later, Thor yawned, rubbinghis right eye with a pointer finger, then met your gaze. He grinned, his eyes flitting over your face, his heart racing a little with the excitement of finally, _finally_ fucking _finally_ being so close to you.

“Burnt out already?” You rolled your eyes. Goddamnit, you’re so cute. You must know, you _have_ to know that you’re that cute. You walk around with that face 24/7, how couldn’t you?

“What makes you say that?” Thor leaned against the table, his eyes meeting yours. Your pretty, soft brown eyes. The fucking _nerve_ of you to be _that_ pretty, with eyes _that_ lovely, and a brain _that_ perfect. He’d be jealous of whoever gets to kiss you if he weren’t so busy trying to be that person.

“You have this faraway look in your eyes. Daydreamy, with a small shot of panic.”

“Shut up,” you shot back as he laughed. “I’ve been burnt out since September 1st.”

“Lightweight,” he murmured, flicking over to the next page. You nudged his notebook, scattering his notes a bit.

“I haven’t had a real eight hours in like three days, be nice to me.”

“Be nice to _me_ ,” he shot back, smiling softly. “The water heater at Gamma Tau is on the fritz. I’m dying for a hot shower.”

“Jesus,” you reply, checking your phone. For the third time in 4o minutes. Not that he’d been counting. “How long has it been?”

“About a week. Our super is taking his sweet fucking time.”

“When did he say he’s gonna get to it?”

“Yesterday,” Thor huffed as he highlighted a passage. “But I got a text a few hours ago that he’s finally working on it. I’m relieved, my brothers and I are so tired of taking cold showers.”

“Thor,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes. “If you want to take a shower at mine, all you need to do is ask.” Thor wanted to say something. He wanted to say to you just how goddamn ready he’d be to shower at yours. He wanted to say this so desperately. But that would be fucking weird, right? He laughed instead. Maybe too hard. He pulled back a little as he trailed off.

“Seriously? I didn’t think we had that kind of relationship.”

“Hey,” you replied; you were fishing through a folder of photocopies, still looking for the handout on semiotics, he assumed. “Anyone who backs me up during a discussion on fucking French New Wave has automatic showering privileges.” Thor laughed louder, his head dipping low as an unexpected blush bloomed across his face.

Though if he were being honest, it was more a giggle. You fucking made him _giggle_.

“Thank you, but it’s alright. It should be working before our party starts tonight, so I’m not stressed.”

You nodded. “Good.” Thor looked up from his book then. Moment of truth. Breathe, Asagrimmr. You can handle this. 

“You’re coming, right?” You met his eyes, and blinked, liberally.

“I…I didn’t know I was invited.” Thor’s head cocked to the side. Goddamnit…

“Of course you are. Anyone who takes the heat off me in Lewisham’s class has automatic party invitation privileges.”

“Cute,” you replied, smiling. Your head darts back down to your folder. You completely missed the invitation, didn’t you. Goddamnit, he _knew_ should’ve gone with the more direct approach.

“Seriously though,” he said, after a moment, “you should come. I hope you do.” Whew, did that sound desperate? “I invited everyone from French Lit. Even Professor Kent. Don’t be the odd man out, now.” That sounded too general! _Goddamnit._

“Oh wow,” you say, rolling your eyes; there’s a little upturn on the corner of your mouth though, so he figures he’s still in safe territory. “Peer pressure? Very mature.”

“Whatever works, babe,” he throws out easily. Your eyes narrow, softly.

“I dunno,” you say, slowly. “I don’t really _do_ frat parties…”

He figured you’d say this. He still doesn’t have a good enough response to it. But he’s swinging for the fences on this one. The whole goddamn reason he invited all of French Lit and Genres was so you would come. And he for damn sure isn’t gonna dodge Karen Atble all night if you’re not gonna be there to make terrible French film jokes with.

“I mean yeah, GT’s very fratty, we’re a frat, but I promise you it’ll be fun. You’ll have a good time. You have my word.” You still look like you’re on the fence, so Thor throws out his last gambit.

“Thor…” you start; he says your name in a softly chagrined tone; your eyes widen a little and you fall silent.

“I’m sorry to tempt you like this,” he says; a smile slowly spreads across his face, and a matching one starts on yours, which makes his go even wider. You’re so fucking cute, and it’s making it impossible for him to not want to kiss you.

“What are you about to say?” You reply. Thor smiles, wider.

“We’re gonna have mini cheesesteaks.” Your laugh is warm, and resonant, and makes a lovely shiver run down his spine. He would’ve thought it was impossible, but you actually get forty million times cuter when you laugh. How are you even fucking _real_?

“You really drive a hard bargain,” you say, quieting. You check your phone. Again.

“Come on,” he says; his eyes flit down to the phone. “You have no finals tomorrow, right? D’you have a hot date or something?” Stupid, that was so fucking _stupid_. And _invasive, why_ did he say that? _D’you have a hot date,_ ya gonna _meet someone_ at the _malt shop_ then drive to _Makeout Point_? So _CORNY_.

To his eternal relief, you shake your head, a little laugh softly huffing out.

“Nah…I actually ordered something from Barnes  & Noble, but I’m pretty sure it’s lost, I keep getting delivery updates…this isn’t relevant, sorry…um…you know, I’ll think about it, okay?” Thor nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I’ll take it. Hope I see you there.” You nod back, then raise your hand, a packet in your hands.

“You just might. Alright so…semiotics…God help us, but we gotta start with Umberto Eco…”

 

You really should have fucking known not to ride with goddamn Karen from French Lit, but you made a fuckass resolution to be fuckass more friendly and it fuckass got you in situations like this.

Situations where it’s the last night before winter break officially, and you’re stranded halfway across town from your apartment in a fraternity, all the taxi services in town are closed, and every carshare service will charge you an arm and a leg to pick you up from Frat Row, then drive you back through campus to your place.

Which leaves you to wander around upstairs, hoping to fucking anything that’s listening that Karen is 1.) still at Gamma Tau, 2.) not getting her guts pumped, 3.) not getting her guts pumped by the guy she came to get them pumped by, and 4.) sober enough and charitable enough to drive you back to your dorm, where your winter break groceries and a copy of the complete series of _Halt and Catch Fire_ (delivered just as you returned home to change for the party, _thank fuck_ ) are waiting patiently for you.

You have to admit, you had fun, though. Thor was right; Gamma Tau was fun to party with. You only wish you’d started going to their shindigs way earlier in your college career, you definitely would have had more fun.

Though how much fun could you have when they eventually found out that you’re the kind of bitch that says _shindig_?

You’d left the library with Thor and walked over to your final at 2:50 pm. You’d ended up finishing early (Lewisham wasn’t surprised, he’d even smiled after you handed it to him. “You were by far the second most frustrating and challenging student I’ve ever had. I’m gonna miss you,” he said. You were so surprised, all you could do was nod and smile) and going straight over to the deli across the street, mainly because studying with Thor had made you miss lunch. Karen Atble ended up catching up with you a half hour, two orders of fries, and a chapter of _Good Omens_ later, gushing about the party that night and trying to grill you on where the two of you had been. You ended up lying and saying you’d seen each other when you left the library.

You don’t know why; that’s a lie, you do. You didn’t feel like dissecting every word the two of you had said for some possible hidden meaning, and then dealing with Karen subtly implying that he wasn’t interested in you, her only proof being that she was desperate for him to be interested in her instead.

In fact, she’d implied as much, yet again, after you refused to tell her the truth about where you’d been with him and what you talked to him about on the walk over for the third time in 15 minutes.

“Well,” she said, toying with the lid of her coffee cup. “Are you going to Gamma Tau’s party tonight? He invited _everyone_ , but I dunno, it seems like he was inviting someone _specific_ , you know—” She was about to mention how he’d looked over at the corner where the two of you and eight other people sat when he said “I really want all of you to come”, but you didn’t want to go down that conversational rabbit hole for the 3,558th time in a month, so you cleared your throat.

“Yeah, I am,” you say. You surprised yourself and her, you know that. You’re not a social person, but the idea of her getting to be in the same building as Thor and possibly getting to…you don’t even want to think it.

“Oh! Okay!” She deflates. Then perks up, again. “Do you, like, wanna come with me? I’ll drive you. I know you’re like…a million miles away from Frat Row?”

You should have said no. You should have sucked it up and walked, conserved some money for a cab home, maybe left earlier. She’s only doing this because she thinks you and Thor are friends now and you’re gonna be her de facto wingwoman. You knew when the two of you walked in, saw Thor on the keg and he eventually made his way over to talk to _you_ instead of her, that you should’ve come alone.

Because based on the standoffish way she treated you after, how she broke off to subtly trail him when he started making rounds, that she expected the opposite to happen. She expected him to ignore you, possibly take her upstairs in a few hours, after his party coordinator duties wrapped up.

He might have done, for all you know. You lost track of both of them after three hours and four beers. You’d gotten into a buzzy, loose, comfortable place; you’d started playing flip cup with some of the older GT members and Thor’s little, and next thing you knew, it was 2:30 in the morning and you were trying not to fall asleep while two new pledges tried and failed to drunkenly explain Homestuck to you in the kitchen. You knew, once they got to the convoluted relationship explanation that it was time for you to go. It was right then you realized that you hadn’t seen Karen in two hours, Thor in 40 minutes, your phone battery was on 8%, and you left your charger at home when you switched purses.

You were, in a word, fucked.

The stairs creak on your way up, loudly and intrusively, but you keep on going, listening, horrified on the inside at the sounds of springs and moans, and wondering how you’re supposed to distinguish Karen’s from some other random girl’s.

This is exceedingly stupid, you think. You’re about to turn around and risk walking back to your dorm when the door at the end of the hall opens and _he_ walks out.

If you’re being honest, and you’re really fucking honest when you’re drinking, you know both why Karen dragged you and why you let Karen drag you to this stupid frat party; Thor is really hot. Hot in a way that makes you angry when he starts talking, because it’s ridiculously unfair that someone that attractive is also _that goddamn smart_ (no one should be that incisive about Flaubert _and_ great at foosball, what the _fuck_ ); and hot in a way that makes you feel embarrassed that he’s being forced to look at you with his stupid gorgeous eyes, and comprehend you with his stupid clever brain. She’s been obsessing over him since the first day of classes, and genuinely half the reason you tolerate her sitting next to you is because you’re also kinda obsessed with him. But you can’t be blamed; you really fucking _can’t_. He’s basically _perfect_.

His face, even now, bleary eyed, nose scrunched, short dirty blonde hair sleep-tousled, squinting at you, trying to make you out as you stand in front of the light coming from the upstairs bathroom, as you try to make yourself smaller, is so absurdly, distractingly hot it makes you want to kick something. Maybe him. Definitely yourself. Fuck. Crushes are terrible. Terrible, awful, disgusting things. Who fucking decided that feelings for people so obviously out of your league should be a thing? _Fuck._

“Hello?” He hoods his eyes. You step closer so he can see you.

“Hey, God, I’m so sorry,” you start. He nods, a soft smile appearing as he tucks his hands into his armpits. “Would you happen to know if…um…Karen Atble is around here anywhere? She’s um…in your, in _our_ , I mean, uh, French Lit class?” Thor squints, looking like he’s trying to think; you can see him clearly, from the light in the bathroom behind you lighting up his face. His stupid, absurdly, offensively handsome fucking face. Ugh.

“No, babe, I’m sorry, I think I remember her leaving a few hours ago,” he sighs, apologetically. You nod, your stomach sinking. Goddamnit. Of fucking course she did. No loyalty having ass hoe. The fact that 1.) she’s clearly not in his room, and therefore definitely left with someone else, _thank fucking fuck_ , and 2.) he hit you with his common term of endearment for the second time in less than 24 hours is definitely not lost on you in your devastation. You’ll just turn that over in your mind as you walk back to your dorm tonight. Like a _scrub_.

“Fuck. She was my ride home…thanks. Sorry for bothering you.” You turn to leave.

“Now wait!” He’s taken a step or two forward, holding his hand out to stop you. “Do you not have a ride now?”

You shake your head. He huffs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can you call an Uber?” You hold up your phone.

“Already checked. There’s no cars in town, and to get one from the next city over to here…well, that’s money I don’t have. Not to mention my phone would die before the car even got here.” Thor shakes his head.

“I’d offer to drive you myself, but considering I’m still drunk as shit…” You nod.

“No, no no, it’s okay, I’ll just walk—”

“No,” he says firmly. He takes a few more steps toward you, then stops, and takes another step back. “Wait here, just a minute, okay? Just…just wait.” You nod, confused. He disappears back into his room. You stand outside, shifting from one foot to the other, trying your very fucking best to block out the sounds of sex coming from the door you’re standing in front of. You’re beginning to wonder if the procedure in _Eternal Sunshine_ can be engineered in a frat house kitchen when Thor reappears, holding a pillow and a massive comforter. He gestures for you to come toward him. You walk forward cautiously. He yawns, gesturing toward his doorknob.

“Now the knob is sticky, I need to get it replaced, but the lock’ll hold as long as you make sure it’s turned. Trust me, I had about 10 thick necked football dudes trying to break this door down at the start of Pledge Week and it held like a champ.” You’re confused, but then it hits you.

“Oh no,” you shake your head. “I can’t sleep in your room, I can’t put you out like that. I’ll just walk—”

“It’s 1 am on the night before winter break, with a hundred fucking rowdy frat boys wandering the streets, and I’m really fucking pissed at myself for missing you when I was doing DD rounds earlier. Please, let me do you this favor. It’s fine, I swear, the couch downstairs and I are old friends.”

“No,” you say. “Please, I feel bad enough already for waking you up, I can sleep on the couch, it’s fin—”

“It’s not fine.” He says, firmly. “I trust my brothers to not be absolute garbage, but we have some dudes outside Gamma Tau in here tonight and I would rather you at least be able to feel like you can stay somewhere with a lock. I’ll leave my key hanging here,” he reaches past you and taps the hooks next to the light switch, “so no one’s getting in here unless you want them to, okay?” You’re ready to put up another fight, but Thor smiles, and says your name in such a sweetly chagrined tone that you stop arguing, immediately. Mostly because you’re still so surprised he knows it that it shuts you up.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Thank you.” He nods, then starts toward the stairs.

“I have shirts in the dresser with the tv on it. Second drawer. If you want something to sleep in. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” You nod.

His room is nice, from what you can see over the threshold and in the dark. Obscenely clean, compared to the rest of the house. And bigger too, by the looks of it. He even has a little living room-like section with a tv and a comfortable looking…oh.

You weigh your options. You do feel bad about basically kicking him out of his own room, but you’re not sure how okay you feel with having a massive 6 foot plus fuck off white guy you don’t really know that well sleeping in the same room with you, massive crush notwithstanding.

But yet…due to the aforementioned massive crush, you have to admit you spent more time watching him tonight and in general than what would be considered…not creepy, at least. And now you know, seeing him outside of class and in his element, he strikes you as sweet and fun; a lot less serious and much chiller than he came off in class, at least. The heroic fucking quantity of beer he drank loosened him up massively.

And he’s protective, which you can’t help but like. He kept an eye on all the women, especially when they were hanging around non-Gamma Tau guys, and he made sure everyone drank water. So, really…if you had to pick a 6 foot plus fuck off white guy…especially one to have a crush on…

“You could just…” you trail off, swinging your head to catch his eye. He’s stopped on the stairs, almost all the way down to the second floor. He looks back up at you. “Sleep on the couch in here?” He hesitates for a split second.

“Nah,” he says, “it’s alri—”

“Come on,” you say, smiling that same chagrined smile he gave you. “You’re already making me kick you out of your room. Don’t make me make you sacrifice your sleep too. Really. I don’t mind.” Thor bites his bottom lip.

“You sure, babe?” The endearment makes your body tingle a little, but you repress it.

“Yeah. I’m sure your couch smells nicer that the one downstairs. And to be honest, I’d feel safer if you were in here, so I wouldn’t have to go find you…if I needed something,” you finish, your head ducking down; thank God you’re not white, for many reasons, the most important one at the moment being you’re glad he can’t see the blush that is most definitely rising on your face. When you raise your head again, he’s back up the stairs, walking down the hallway toward you. He smiles as he reaches you, then gestures for you to enter the room first.

“Well, who am I to deny the prettiest girl here tonight a sense of security?”

Jesus _Christ_ , thank fucking Godt you’re not white; you’d be red as a fucking tomato.

“Don’t get cute,” you manage, smiling as you enter.

Thor hits the light. His room, is like…alarming in it’s neatness. Art posters and trophies adorn the walls. His bed is a massive rumpled mess, with a red surfboard mounted over it, a jagged gold thunderbolt running down the center of it. He gestures to the dresser, tossing the comforter and pillow on the couch as he goes.

“You can go ahead and change if you want. I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” You nod; he retreats past a door next to the closet and shuts it.

You turn to his dresser and pull the second drawer open. A massive number of graphic tees greet you, most of them with the sleeves cut off. The sight makes you smile, for some reason. You pull out a grey XXL shirt with cutoff sleeves and a large yellow thunderbolt on the chest. You pull off your boots, bomber jacket, shirt, and distressed jeans and shimmy into the shirt. It drops just below your butt. You pull the hem down as you tiptoe over to the door.

“Hey, um, Thor?”

“Yeah?” His voice comes muffled through the wood. The sound of the toilet goes, then the sink.

“Do you maybe have a pair of boxers I can borrow?”

“Top drawer!” You open it and pull out a pair of yellow and black striped ones that hit the midpoint of your thighs. You let out a soft yawn; you didn’t realize just how tired you were until you got out of your jeans. You slouch into Thor’s bed.

“Are you changed?” He yells through the door. Your head darts up to the door. Oh! He was waiting for you!

“Yeah, I’ve changed! You can come in.” Thor enters, looking you over in his bed, then chuckles.

“Just made yourself right at home, huh?” You smile.

“Yeah, well, you offered, so…” He goes over to the mini fridge next to the dresser.

“Fair, babe. Do you want some water? You were drinking tonight, right?”

You nod. He tosses a bottle onto the bed at your feet, pointing at you as he rises to his full height. “Drink that. The whole thing. I’m serious.” He flops onto the couch as he cracks open another bottle. You follow suit; you know you’re dehydrated. You have a slight headache and your eyes feel dry. You’re a little afraid to even think of what your hair is—

“Fuck,” you say, loudly. Thor sits up.

“What’s wrong?” You hiss, shaking your head, pissed.

“I left my bonnet in my dorm,” you groan. “Shit. I wasn’t expecting to not be home tonight.” Thor gets up, then goes back to his dresser.

“Silk okay?” Your eyes narrow.

“Yeah…” Thor turns and hands you a silk pillowcase, then goes back to the couch. He catches you staring at him, utterly dumbfounded.

“What?” What? _What?_ He hands you fucking _gold_ and acts like it’s _nothing?_ Does he even _know_ how motherfucking _expensive_ satin and silk bed items are?! The satin pillowcases you have at home ran you $60 and this one is way fucking nicer than them, by a fucking _mile_? How is he a real fucking _person_? How is he a _real person_ that legitimately exists in the world?

“You’re kidding, right? Why do you have this?”

He smiles; what the _fuck_ , did your heart just flutter? That smile is a deadly weapon.

“I’ve dated a few women of color in my time,” he replies. It takes everything in you to roll your eyes instead of scream from excitement.

“Which one of them left this here?” You reply, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

“None, I bought that after my ex Nola stayed over here for the first time.” You nod, impressed despite yourself.

“Well,” you say, as casually as you can muster, as you put the pillowcase on and lay back. “That certainly explains why you smell like coconut oil all the time.” Thor smirks.

“Nola did not introduce me to coconut oil, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh. A likely story, white boy.” Thor chuckles as he fluffs up his pillow.

“I swear. I surf. It’s the only thing that works on my skin.”

“Aren’t you from Norway?” You say, squinting, and sitting up. “I have that right, don’t I?” You remember him saying something about a Scandinavian country. Somewhere. “You catch a lot of waves on the Norwegian Sea?”

Thor smiles even wider, if that’s possible. “You remembered! Yeah. My parents got divorced when I was young and I moved with my dad to Australia. I’ve been surfing and using coconut oil since I was 11.” Your eyes go over the trophies on his wall, then the surfboard mounted over your head.

“Well that puts this into perspective,” you joke, pointing up. Thor laughs with you.

“Sorry about that; if I’d known I was gonna get a gorgeous girl visiting my room tonight I would’ve stashed it.” _Goddamnit_. Fucking goddamnit. He’s gonna have to chill with the compliments before you start catching more feelings. He probably had no idea; he seemed like the kind of guy who would say nice things just for the sake of saying nice things.

He must read your expression as discomfort because he stops laughing. “Shit I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—”

“No,” you say quickly, speaking over him, “it’s okay, really—”

“—I’m just not sober right now, and I really like you, and you know—”

“I promise I really wasn’t upse—wait,” you stop; holding your breath, “sorry, what did you say?”

“—someone you have a crush on them is kinda—”

“Wait,” you repeat, louder, holding up your hands. Thor stops, immediately. A blush floods across his cheeks. It’s immediately, intensely endearing. “ _Wait._ What were you saying?” Thor stutters, for a minute. Then clears his throat. Then lays back.

“Wow, okay. Sorry. I’m not sober. I’m gonna let you sleep. Goodnight!” He immediately flips over onto his side and pulls his comforter over his shoulder.

He said what you thought he said, you’re fucking sure of it. Your heart’s racing a little from the excitement. You almost want to leave it alone; it almost seems too good to be true, especially after what he’d said earlier.

But he said, he _said_ , you _know_ he _said_ the word crush. And he was talking about _you_. And he _said_ he _liked you_. You definitely heard that part. You’re not letting this go for fucking love nor money.

So you get out of his bed, and you walk over to stand in front of the couch he’s sleeping on, and you sit down on his coffee table. You reach over and pull the comforter down so you can see his face. And you smile.

“You were saying?” Thor’s face is still flushed red. He can’t meet your eyes.

“I was um…I’m not exactly…I’m kinda still drunk, I guess…that was—”

“You tossed a bottle of water over to me without hitting me. And I remembered that I didn’t have a bonnet on before I went to bed. We’re not that drunk.”

“Damnit…I should’ve known you’d use that against me.”

“You were saying…” you smile, “you have a crush…”

Thor meets your eyes, then. And he nods, sighing. “Ah…yeah.” Your head tilts, and you smile wider. Thor’s face, if possible, gets even redder. It’s absurdly cute and he’s twenty times handsomer. Bastard.

“On me,” you finish. He nods.

“Yeah.”

“You like… _like_ me.”

“…I do.” Thor’s eyes dart away from yours then. He can’t meet them. He’s still flushed red, still curled up under his comforter, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “How the hell could I not, you’re…funny, and smart, and clever, and gorgeous and sweet, and you don’t take anyone’s shit, ever, I think about that time that Ryan Hegram said that George Sand was a better writer than Amantine Dupin and the way you fucking eviscerated him with a fucking smile on your face, holy shit, not only was it accurate it was fucking hilarious, and I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then, and that’s another thing, you’re smart as _hell_ and you’re not ashamed of it, you don’t give a shit if people don’t like it or not, which is admirable as shit, because plenty of dudes I know are always like I want a smart girl but then get pissed when they realize they mean a smart girl who’ll just agree with them and isn’t smarter than them and I just think about how they’d shit their pants if they met you and tried to chat you up, you fucking…you’re just amazing, I love watching your face during class discussions because I know whether someone is right or dead fucking wrong or not just based on the faces you make! You’re brilliant, and beautiful, just fucking stunning, you just smile and it’s like the sun came out, and damn, you’re just so _smart_ —”

“You said that already,” you reply; your face feels hot; you probably have turned a little red, or at least a richer shade of your skintone.

“Yeah, well…it’s worth repeating,” he says. He still can’t meet your eyes. Goddamn him, he’s cute even when he’s embarrassed. It almost annoys you enough to make you want him to suffer a little longer. Just because he looks so cute. But you tell him. Of course you tell him. How could you not after that?

“Thank God you said it first,” you murmur. Thor looks up at you then. “I definitely wouldn’t have been brave enough.” He sits up, immediately.

“So you…” he trails off; his eyes meet yours. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ve kinda had a stupid, embarrassing crush on you since the first day.”

Thor has a unbelievable smile; you’ve known that from day one; it’s kind of why you like him so much. His smile is infectious, it makes everyone around him smile on impulse. He has a few different ones, you’ve seen them all at this point. A genuine one for when you say something funny; a politely irritated one when one of the other guys in class cuts off a female classmate, and he cuts back in and throws it back over so she can finish her thought; a silly one for when he’s buzzed and in his element. You had them ranked, at one point, and they regularly trade slots because they’re all so fucking _nice_ to look at.

This one, fuck them _all_ , this one blows the rest out of the _water_.

It starts in his eyes; they get big and bright, and sparkly, and somehow even fucking _bluer_ , like hunks of frozen seawater. Then his mouth goes, his smile stretches so wide, his dimples are almost deep enough to swim in. He’s radiant. His beard, _somehow_ , what the _fuck_ , gets even blonder. And it’s fucking _wild_ to you that _you_ did this. Just by goddamn telling him that you like him as much as he likes you. Holy _shit_. You feel like a superhero.

“Well,” he says; he bites his bottom lip, then rubs his chin with his palm, briefly. His hand drops. “What should we do now?” Your eyes dart down to his mouth. Then down to his collarbone. Across his shoulder, down to his bicep, to his forearm. Then his hand, resting on the table next to your bare knee. Then back up to his knowing gaze. Thank fucking _Godt_ you’re not white.

“We should probably sleep,” you say.

“Yeah,” he replies. Neither of you move. Thor’s hand has crept closer to your leg, right next to your right hand. His lips are soft, you think. They look really soft. And he smells really nice; like coconut and rain and shea butter, and a masculine smell you can’t quite place. And to be honest, you’re still a little buzzed from earlier. And his eyes are dancing over you, flickering between your eyes, your mouth, and what little of your bra he can see through his shirt, you’re sure. “You look very cute in my clothes.”

“Thanks,” you sigh. Your heart races. He moves closer.

“Can I…do you mind if I…kiss you?” You don’t bother to reply; you just lean forward and press your mouth against his, his beard tickling the skin around your chin and mouth.

Thor’s hands slowly, gradually go around your waist and squeezes; he nudges you forward, off the table and you rise and sink into his lap. _Mm_ …his lips are just as soft as you thought they’d be. Softer, possibly. You’re surprised. But it’s a nice surprise; just like it is when his hands worm their way under the shirt you’re wearing, when he holds you tight to his chest and you feel his erection pressing against your shin, when you dig your nails into the nape of his neck and he groans, when you smile against his lips and open your mouth, open into a sigh and his tongue slips in. When you roll your hips, grinding on him and he works his hips underneath you, riding the rhythm you set. When his mouth breaks away from yours and slides down your jawline to the side of your neck and he bites, one hand going up to your bra clasp, the other to your ass. When you hold his neck and tip his head up, and kiss his Adam’s apple and his hips jut up, stabbing you with his length.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. Thor holds your hips in place.

“You alright?” He sounds a little wrecked; his thumb brushes over your lips; in response, you open your mouth and his thumb slides right in. He gasps; his eyes are locked on yours as you bite and lick his thumb, suck on it gently, then let it slide out of your mouth. He’s definitely fucking wrecked by now.

“Yeah,” you whisper. You take his pointer finger into your mouth and do the same. He leans toward you, eyes half lidded, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth then licks across yours; the feel of his scruff on you skin makes you shiver all over, grip his t-shirt tighter in your hands; then he cups your ass and lifts you, rotating and sinking until your back is on the couch and he leans into you, kissing your neck.

“You sure?” He says, his voice muffled into your skin. “Is this alright?”

“Mmhm,” you sigh, breathy. “I’ll be better than alright if you keep doing that. I’ll be perfect.”

He laughs, then sighs, as his mouth drops to your collarbone. “All this time spent talking about me and you smell fucking _sensational_.” His hands go under the hem of your shirt, and he grips your waist, gently but firmly, one hand brushing down to the back of your knee, to hold your thigh in place against his hip. Your hands run down his chest, and you grip the hem of his shirt in your hands and pull upward; he lets you go and raises his arms, his mouth breaking away from you for a split second, and then his shirt is gone, and he’s back to tugging the collar of your shirt down to plant kisses on you, the scruff on his face giving you beard burn, his hands gripping your thighs just a little too tight…it’s all so good…and suddenly so overwhelming.

“Wait,” you whisper, softly. “Wait a second. I’m sorry. Wait.” Thor stops, immediately, and sits up, pulling you to sit up too.

“Hey,” he says; he creeps back on the couch, out of your personal space. “Are you okay?” You nod, breathing slowly.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry…I was enjoying it, I just…” you cast around, trying to find the right words to describe the sudden anxiety that gripped you. “It was just a lot,” you say, finally. “I just…the guy I’ve had a crush on for months is suddenly kissing me and touching me and…I’m sorry.” Thor shakes his head; a blush rises in his cheeks.

“No, don’t apologize, okay? _I’m_ sorry. This is what I was trying to avoid, you being uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have…done any of that. It was—”

“Nice,” you finish for him. “Really good. Welcome, even. But maybe too soon for me…?” He nods.

“Understood. ” You smile, and he smiles back. You hand him his shirt; he blushes deeper as he accepts it, making your chest flood with fondness again. Once he has it back on, you scoot over to him, and rise on your heels a little to kiss him, sweetly.

“I’m gonna actually go to sleep now,” you whisper; Thor’s breath is shaky, his eyes locked on yours. He nods.

“That sounds like a good plan,” he says, with an air of playful sternness. “Considering you woke me up in the middle of the night and all.”

“Yeah, I’m not sorry about that,” you say, smiling even wider. You rise from the couch and make your way back over to his bed, snuggling into it. Thor reaches over to the lamp at the end by his feet and turns it off. Darkness, cut only by the moonlight from his window, falls over the room.

“Hey,” he whispers. You smile, softly.

“What?”

“Do you wanna charge your phone?” Your head pops up, just to stare over at him.

“What?”

“You just…I remember you saying it was gonna die, or something. Do you wanna plug it in, so you can set your alarm? If you have somewhere to be in the morning, or something…”

“No,” you reply. “I don’t have anywhere to be. I’m staying on campus all break.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah.” You let out a soft giggle. “Thank you.”

“What?” Thor says.

“Oh, nothing, I just. You know. It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Well…because I didn’t ask if I could use your charger, or if you could call an uber for me and I’d pay you back. And you didn’t offer. Easy fix. Strange we wouldn’t see that. We must be really toasted.”

“Yeah,” you can hear Thor’s smile, and it makes you smile even wider. “Completely out of it.”

 

Thor’s desk comes into focus, covered in bright sunlight. He’s sitting at it; you can hear the sound of keys clacking as he types, his shoulders moving. He tilts his head to the side, groans as it cracks.

You’re curled underneath his comforter, pillow with the silk case secured tightly under your head. You turn over, to look up at the ceiling and stretch, groaning as joints crack and aching muscles burn.

“Good morning,” Thor’s turned around in his seat, watching you, smiling. _Infectious_ fucking _smile_ , the little shit.

“Good morning,” you reply, turning over to look at him.

“How’d you sleep, babe?” You shrug.

“Fine, I guess. You’d know better than me. I’m pretty sure I passed out mid-sentence.”

Thor laughs; he stands up from the desk and sinks to his knees in front of you, his forearms pressed into the mattress and his chin resting on his fists.

“You did. That was one hell of an ego boost; thanks babe. I plugged in your phone this morning, by the way.” You tweak his nose.

“Thanks, handsome,” you reply. “And thanks for tucking me in.”

“Anytime, gorgeous,” he replies; he smiles, falling silent, watching you. You do the same, meeting his blue eyes with yours. His bright, happy, icy blue eyes. They’re like freshwater pools, like clear skies, like the air after the storm.

You reach forward to touch his beard, brushing your hand through the bristly pretty blonde hair.

“You have some of the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen, babe,” he whispers. He reaches up and touches your cheekbone. He bites his lip, like he wants to kiss you. He flexes his hand.

“Wait,” you say. He freezes, then lets go.

“I’m sorry, that was—”

“No,” you smile, then grab his hand as you sit up.“I just woke up. Morning breath.” He nods, gently pressing his forehead into yours and cupping your cheek.

“Is it weird that I still wanna kiss you, even with morning breath?” You tweak his nose, then hold it and kiss him on the forehead.

“It’s kind of flattering, I’m not gonna lie.” He edges over so you can stand up and go to his bathroom. You brush your teeth, and, after a few moments of debate, hop in the shower. You’re out five or so minutes later, snag a bottle of his lotion and slather it on, then put his clothes and your bra back on.

When you walk out, Thor is back at his computer, typing. You wander over to him. He continues writing as you lean against his desk, right next to him.

“You smell good,” he says; he smiles up at you briefly before he returns to typing.

“Thank you. So do you. What are you working on?” He yawns.

“I’m revising my final paper on Immanuel Kant.”

“Really? It’s the first day of winter break. When’s it due?” Thor grins up at you, then taps his wrist.

“In about 15 minutes. Well, really, like 13 minutes.” You snort; this is very untypical of him. He’s usually the first person to hand in assignments in class, and you mention this. He smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah well, that was me overachieving because I kind of wanted to impress you.”

Your eyes widen. Holy shit. All that effort, just to impress you? You remembered your peer review of a few of his chapter analyses on _Cousin Bette_ too; they were impeccable. The fact that he’d poured all of that work into his assignments just so you’d think he was cooler was actually insanely flattering. It really didn’t hurt that he was clearly very smart.

“Wow,” you reply, smiling. “Well it worked, genius.” He beams at you, then cracks his knuckles and turns back to his laptop.

“Oh thank God, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that again,” he laughs. Then he stops and turns to look at you. “Speaking of. Question.”

“Answer,” you reply. He smiles, again, his entire face lighting up. His beautiful, stupid, perfect, ridiculous face. Damn, you just wanna kiss him. He turns fully to face you now.

“I was thinking, since you’re gonna be around for winter break and I’m gonna be around for winter break…do you maybe wanna…hang out? Like…not platonically? Like on a date?”

What…

Did he just…

And you’re just…staring at him.

He wants to date you. He wants to go out on a date with you. He liked hanging out with you enough to want to do it more and do it in a more explicitly romantic way. He wants to take you out and maybe kiss you again. Holy shit.

How long have you been standing here staring at him?

“Yes, sorry. Yes. That’s. Yeah. I’d love to.” What the fuucccckk is up with this man and his beautiful fucking _smiles_? He’s just so goddamn _effervescent_.

“Okay. Cool. Great. Give me a second to finish this up and I’ll drive you back to your place.” You nod.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I mean,” you say, before he can turn back to his laptop. “You can also come with me to breakfast. There’s a dope diner down the block from my apartment complex. Or if you’re not adverse to the idea, I could make you breakfast. At my place.” He’s staring up at you, a little slackjawed, before he smiles, then nods.

“Yeah, that sounds awesome.”

“Okay. Great.”

“Great.”

He’s staring up at you still. Quiet. But then he stands up, and moves slowly toward you. Touches your hand resting on his desk. His hand trails up your arm to your shoulder and you move closer to him as he cups your face. You smile up at him, yourhand going up to the nape of his neck. Pull it, just a little. His eyes slip closed; he bites his bottom lip. Then looks back down at you. You smile wider as he leans down and kisses you. Pulls you closer to his body. His tongue swirls into your mouth. Hand descends to your hip. You sigh into it, obliging as Thor turns on the spot, pressing you between him and his desk; you back into it, then sit on the edge, arching into it. His hands drop to your thighs and lift you onto the desk. Your hands drop behind you to scoot back; you slip a little on looseleaf pages.

“Oh,” you sigh; his mouth drops to your jaw, then your neck. “Hey…your paper…”

“Mmhm…” he whispers; he holds you and leans into you, his lips going over your collarbone. “Just a second…” His mouth comes back to yours; he cups your face, and kisses you, deep, slow, and _fucking filthy_ ; he’s got you on edge again, twisting your hips to get closer to the edge, closer to him, when he stops, his eyes shut, forehead resting against yours. “Fuck…okay…sorry.” He lets you go; his eyes open as he drops into his seat again, smiling up at your dazed expression. “Alright, babe?”

You nod, bringing yourself under control. “Perfectly sound.”

“Good,” he replies.

“Good,” you repeat. He grins. The two of you are silent for a moment before you incline your head to the side, eyebrows raised.

“Paper, Thor.”

“Right, fuck!”

**Author's Note:**

> this is...probably gonna be a two parter. I might change my mind!
> 
> Asagrimmr is an Odin epithet. Because yeah, Odinson is a last name, but I always think of it in the way that Russian patronymics work, because theoretically Odin's last name would then have to be Borrson. So what better way to use Odin's 743829568325472 epithets, right?
> 
> Also I apologize for that deep dive into French New Wave, I started typing and the behavior my brain displayed was bitter-like. The anger and a lot of repressed memories from college jumped out.


End file.
